We tried camping. It was kind of a matter of honor, just because of what happened last year. But last year we had a lot working against us: Graham was still in a crib, the kids had never slept in the same room together (let alone a tent), Graham still needed a nap, it was a million trillion degrees.
This year we had a lot working for us: Graham is in a regular bed, the kids are expert travelers, missing a nap doesn’t lead to the apocalypse. But it was still a million trillion degrees.
So when the boy woke up at 1:30 a.m. he was hot. Very hot. And pissed. And confused. There was a lot of screaming and rearranging and screaming and changing tents and screaming and offers to leave and screaming and peeing in the woods and screaming. Things finally settled down around 2:30.
At 7 a.m. the mamas and kids were back home eating breakfast. The dads, thankfully, cleaned up camp. All in all it was an improvement. And we learned that camping can be done. It will just NEVER be done during the Texas summer again. As with gardening, I’ve learned my lesson.
But all of this has made me homesick; homesick for “real” camping. I mean the camping I remember as a kid: smelling the pine forests, following deer trails, throwing lava rocks into clear streams to see if they float, actually needing a fire during the chilly evenings. But here we have Texas camping; getting stabbed by pointy plants, unable to veer off the path for fear of scorpions and poisonous snakes (we’ve got them all!), watching for water moccasins in murky streams, no campfire because of drought-induced burn bans. It’s just not what I’m used to growing up in the Northwest. And I wish I could experience NW camping with Violet and Graham.
So we’ll try winter camping here in Texas. Or spring camping. I’m sure it has its charms. And maybe my kids will love their own camping memories: hiding cactus in each other’s sleeping bags, snake scavenger hunts, tossing scorpions in the river to see if they float, etc…